


Language

by fortuitousauthor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, Sad, Small fic, angsty, brief mention of physical violence, but probably not this decade, it's tiny, may expand, really - Freeform, reg likes music, they deserve better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:51:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7679779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortuitousauthor/pseuds/fortuitousauthor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Reg is ten, it’s quiet outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Language

When Reg is ten, it’s quiet outside. Inside it’s a storm, but outside, outside it’s silent. 

Walburga doesn’t like it when Regulus goes near the muggles, but it feels nice to have the cool breeze on his face. There’s no rain today: something that hasn’t happened for a long time. He distracts himself from the shouts inside by humming songs he’s heard from the muggle radio next door. They like music with instruments, and he likes the harmonious songs that grow to a peak and then fall best. There’s a sense of rightness and unity. He wants more.  
The shouting inside crescendos with his music and then ceases entirely, but their violence can’t take this beautiful music away. 

 

He hears the door click open and tenses, waiting for the reprimanding smack. He glances behind, catching the edge of light through long hair, but instead it’s his brother with a new bruise adorning his face.  
“Hey, Reg.” Sirius sniffles and wipes his nose’s dripping moisture on his sleeve. He never cried prettily. Regulus wrinkles his brow in worry at Sirius’s lack of composure: usually it takes longer for him to crack.  
“Don’t worry about me.” He attempts a smile, which falters, and only deepens Regulus’s brow. “I’m fine. How are you holding up?” Reg’s mind flashes between a sudden fast part of his music, Sirius’s bloodshot eyes, and the way his mother’s thin mouth twitches when she’s angry. It’s too much. He always thinks too much.  
“Fine. I’m used to it.”  
“Like hell.”  
Reg glares at Sirius. “Language,” he says distastefully.  
Sirius freezes for a moment, then a small giggle erupts from him and suddenly his head is falling forward onto his knees and he’s laughing as if “language” was the funniest word in the English language.  
“Okay, Reg. Just don’t tell Walburga. I’m already a Gryffindor, God forbid I say hell: she’d have a fit.”  
“Be careful,” Regulus admonished. Sirius rested his arm on Regulus’s shoulder.  
“You too.”  
“I’m always careful; don’t worry about me.”  
“I always worry.”

Sirius ruffled his hair, then turned his face up, stars scattered across him.  
"You worry about yourself, Reg. I'm not worth the trouble."


End file.
